


it starts and ends with memory

by Rowantreeisme



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Angst, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Not Canon Compliant, Panic Attacks, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Secret Identity, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 22:06:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19071622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rowantreeisme/pseuds/Rowantreeisme
Summary: Tony Carbonell is a completely normal professor at MIT. He tutors kids, both in his class and not, and builds things in his free time. He feeds stray cats and drinks too much coffee and wears dorky shirts to class.He's also an Avenger and the son of the late Howard Stark. He's pretty sure, though, that no one except his two closest friends and his AI's know this.And then the Winter Soldier breaks into his home.





	it starts and ends with memory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arboreal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arboreal/gifts).



It had been a late night — Tony had stayed late running tutorials for some of his students, both the ones that needed extra help and the ones that were going above and beyond — so it was after dark when Tony fumbled his keys, shoved them into the lock. 

Or, tried to, because the door pushed open under his hand, and when he looked closer, alert and on-edge now, he saw that the wood around the edge was splintered, broken. 

Someone was here, someone who did  _ not  _ have a key, and that— that had the possibility to be  _ extremely  _ bad. 

Sure, maybe it was just a run-of-the-mill robbery, but the small converted warehouse Tony lived in wasn’t exactly a prime target, and his security was, to say the least,  _ beefy _ . And hard to detect. 

The fact that someone had managed to disable it,  _ after _ damn near knocking the door off its hinges, spoke to something more than a basic burglar. 

Tony flicked the face of his watch open, and the gauntlet covered his hand with a quiet series of clicks and he took a step into the house.

All the lights were off, which was expected, considering that it was almost a certainty that JARVIS was disabled in some way — and God, it better be temporary and fixable or whoever it was who had broken into his  _ home _ was going to regret it — and the house was quiet, no hum of electricity, no rustle of Tony’s various bots going about their business, no Beeb winding around his legs begging for pets. Most likely, whoever had broken in had just disrupted the power in some way, and if so JARVIS  _ should _ be fine. 

If he wasn’t, though…

Tony wasn’t going to think about what he’d do if JARVIS wasn’t fine. 

For the first time, Tony cursed the relatively open floor plan of the place — if whoever had broken in was still  _ here  _ then Tony, walking in the front door, was essentially a sitting duck — as he crept further in, eyes flicking from the workshop that covered nearly the entire first level, to the loft area above, straining his eyes in the dark for any sign of movement, any sign of damage, of anything missing.

There didn’t seem to be anything, aside from the darkness, wrong with the place. All of his various projects had been left where they were — tools and scrap and computer parts strewn across workbenches, a car, the front jacked up, that he’d been scrapping for parts — and nothing, not even the more valuable bits of tech (not the armor, of course not the armor, Tony never just left  _ that _ lying around) had been moved even an inch. 

So. 

Chances were whoever had broken in was after  _ Tony _ , not his stuff, and chances are, they were still here. 

So. Tony had most likely just walked into a trap, and it wasn’t like he could  _ do _ anything about that right now. 

Tony only hoped that they were here for  _ him _ , and not Iron Man or the Avengers, because  _ that _ meant that they’d figured out his identity, somehow, and that—

That was going to hurt one hell of a lot more people than just Tony. Might’ve already hurt people — and he couldn’t afford to think about the  _ what if’s _ right now, about the possibility that whoever this was had gotten his identity through someone like Pepper, or Rhodey — like JARVIS, who was dark and silent and Tony had no backup here, nothing but his taser gauntlet and the fact that even with the lights off he knew this place like the back of his own hand, and—

There was movement in the corner of Tony’s eye, and he spun, heart pounding in his throat to see a man sitting on one of Tony’s stools, and he had been so still and quiet, inhumanly so, that Tony hadn’t even noticed him ‘till now. He aimed the gauntlet, prepared to fire — it wouldn’t kill the man, but with any luck it would take him down for the count — when the man spoke. 

“Antonio Carbonell.” He said, voice flat and Russian-accented, and  _ oh, _ this was  _ bad _ , because that was the  _ goddamn Winter Soldier,  _ in Tony’s house, saying his name, and Tony lowered the hand covered in the gauntlet because the voltage this thing could supply was nowhere  _ near _ enough to take down a supersoldier, and he had no doubt that if he tried  _ anything  _ Barnes wouldn’t hesitate to take him down. 

He had to be smart about this. See what Barnes wanted— because he wanted something other than Tony dead, otherwise Tony already  _ would _ be dead— and try to set a trap of his own. “Yeah,” Tony said finally, “That’s me. What do you want?”

“Mechanic,” Barnes said, paused, and it looked like Tony’s assumption that Barnes wouldn’t be game for some verbal sparring was absolutely correct. Short and to the point was good, but didn’t leave Tony many openings. “Are you capable of performing maintenance?” 

The silver arm glinted in the low light, and Tony had a feeling that asking what he was supposed to maintain was a moot point. He stepped forward, hands held loose at his sides, far enough from his body that Barnes wouldn’t get the idea that Tony was trying anything. “And what if I say no?” He asked, “If I can’t do what you’re asking me to do?”

Tony was close enough that he could see the flash of what looked like despair in Barnes’s eyes when the words left his mouth. So, Tony had clearly been Barnes’s only option for this, and the fact that Barnes was showing his face at  _ all _ meant that he was desperate. Tony’s chest ached in sympathy, and he already knew that he wasn’t going to say no. Damnit. 

“Maintenance is required.” Barnes just said, voice flat, dull, “Maintenance will be carried out.”

“You mean you’d try to do it yourself.” Tony said, glanced back at the arm, sighed, scrubbed a hand over his face. “Ok. I’ll— I’ll do it.” He turned around, the direction of JARVIS’s main server access and the main circuit breaker so he could get some lights on, froze when he heard a click behind him. Tony turned, slowly, hands held out to his sides. Barnes was pointing a gun at him with his right arm, the left still laying flat on the table. Tony took a breath, tried to force himself to calm the fuck down. “You’ve done something to the power,” Tony explained, “I need to be able to see to help you, and I might need power tools, and to do  _ any _ of that, I need electricity.” Tony paused, because Barnes had  _ not _ put the gun back from wherever he’d pulled it from, “I am  _ not _ going to tell anyone that you’re here, but putting the power back on  _ will _ reactivate my security system. I  _ will _ tell it—” He hated to refer to JARVIS as such, but Tony didn’t know how Barnes was going to react to an actual intelligent AI system, so it was better to be safe than sorry, “—not to alert anyone. Can I do that?”

Barnes looked at him, gaze sharp and wary, clearly trying to judge if Tony was being honest or not. Eventually, he clearly decided that Tony was being truthful — good, because he  _ was —  _ and nodded, a sharp, jerky thing. 

Relieved, because sure, Tony most likely could’ve made do with a headlamp and his regular tools — he’d done worse with less, and the less he thought about  _ that _ the better — he was going to be working on a human being, and the better the conditions, the less chance there was he’d hurt Barnes, Tony strode quickly over to the main server access and crouched, trying to suss out the problem. 

It wasn’t hard to find. 

The breaker box had been forcefully pried open, and the main switch jammed to off. 

Tony flicked it back, and the lights came back on with a hum. “Power cut-off detected,” JARVIS said, voice flat like it always was before he came fully online, the servers to Tony’s right starting to whirr as they powered back on, “Restart initiated in five, four, three, two, one— restarted. Sir—”

“Everything’s fine, J,” Tony said, before JARVIS could start panicking, “No security measures will be necessary.”

“Yes, sir.” JARVIS responded, sounding like not activating the security measures was the  _ last _ thing he wanted to be doing. 

When Tony stood, turned back around, Barnes was looking around with wide eyes, gaze darting around the place like he didn’t know what to look at. “Hey,” Tony said, kicked a stool over to sit by Barnes, who’s gaze snapped over to Tony like a rubber-band. “What did you want from me?”

Barnes blinked, once, and then said, so quietly that Tony barely heard him, even as close as they were sitting, “Fix me.”

“I don’t know what you mean by that,” Tony said apologetically, “I’m sorry. Is… Is it the arm? Is it hurting—”

The mention of the arm seemed to spark  _ something _ in Barnes, because his eyes flashed and he hissed  _ “Yes”  _  loud enough that Tony jolted back, “It hurts. It.  _ Take it off, please, take it off.” _

The last part was in Russian, and Tony was so,  _ so _ glad that Iron Man had been chatting with Natasha enough that he’d learned at least some of the language. 

Tony… felt like he should’ve been able to anticipate that, should’ve figured that Barnes might’ve wanted to get rid of the very thing that had made him the Fist of Hydra, should’ve guessed that Hydra’s handiwork had been hurting the man. “Alright.” Tony said, “I’m going to need you to take off your shirt, so I can see—”

Barnes had been wearing a hoodie over a dark red henley, and at Tony’s word he was already trying to tug the whole piecemeal over his head with his one good arm.

“Hey,” Tony said, “Ok, that’s not— can I—” The tuft of brown hair Tony could see sticking out through the head hold jerked, a nod, and Tony reached out, leaned in, and together, they managed to get Barnes’s right arm and head through the clothes, and Tony pulled it the rest of the way off the metal arm. “Good, ok,” He said, dragged his eyes upwards over the arm, fingers to wrist to elbow, all the way to where it connected with Barnes’s actual shoulder. Tony swallowed. 

The metal went higher than he’d been expecting. 

He’d thought— well, he’d heard stories from Steve, from Natasha, and at the very worst, he’d assumed that the metal would stop high on Barnes’s bicep, low enough that the prothstetic — and what a goddamn joke, to call the metal  _ thing _ grafted to Barnes’s side a prothstetic, because prosthetics were meant to  _ help _ people, not to be weapons, not to be a torture — would be supported by Barnes’s humerus. 

It wasn’t. 

It covered his entire shoulder, part of his trapezoids, nearly all the way to his  _ neck _ , Jesus.

The join between metal and skin wasn’t neat. It was raw-edged and red and there were scars trailing perpendicularly outwards, four of them, a fifth higher and shallower, and — 

Yeah, Tony recognized that pattern of scars, but now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. Now wasn’t the time to think about how fresh those marks were, how deep the scars were, how frequently and furiously Barnes must try to  _ claw off his own damn arm _ for the marks to stay fresh in flesh that could heal a bullet wound in less than three hours. “You said it hurts,” Tony said, “Is it the arm itself, or—”

“Yes.” Barnes answered.

“Ok.” Tony said, “Is it damaged, or—?”

He trailed off, not willing to voice what he was thinking.  _ Or did they make it to hurt for the sole purpose of hurting you, Or is this how you live, Or how can it  _ not _ hurt you, something that invasive, something that horrible.  _ Barnes, unfortunately, voiced it for him. “No damage. Pain indicates when maintenance must be performed.” 

Jesus.  _ Or is it just programmed to hurt after a time so that they can make sure you keep coming back _ , Tony thought grimly. “Ok,” He said, “I’m going to need you to tell me where to start.” He looked at Barnes, expectantly, and looking at Tony like he expected to be hit, shifted, and half the metal plates making up his bicep shifted back and out to expose the wiring within.

Tony hooked a stool with his foot and pulled it over, dragged down a work light so he could see, pulled his toolkit closer, looked up at Barnes one last time. “Tell me if what I do hurts you,” He said, voice serious, “I do  _ not _ want to hurt you, but I've never done anything like this before, so you have to  _ tell me _ , ok?”

Barnes nodded, brow furrowing for just a moment, before he straightened, looking down at where his arm was resting on the table, and taking a slow breath, Tony leant over the arm, looking into the mechanisms and doing his best to try and forget that what he was looking at was connected to a human person.

In a way, he had to admit that it was brilliant. The arm itself — the functionality of it, the mechanisms, were beautifully designed to give Barnes all the range of motion and flexibility that a regular arm would have, with added strength, of course — but the part that Tony was looking at, the part that obviously  _ required maintenance _ , was horrible. 

It was forced obsolescence at its worst. There were parts just behind what Tony could only assume was the power supply that were corroded, nearly to the point of openly sparking, when clearly,  _ clearly _ , with the kind of tech the rest of the arm used, wasn’t at all necessary. They could’ve  _ fixed _ it, made it better, made it so that it wouldn’t require a replacement part every couple months, and they didn’t, and even without the pain it was causing the person it was attached to, it was an affront to good engineering. 

The fact that it was causing pain — and, oh, Barnes had left Hydra nearly a year ago, this must’ve been a problem for a while now and Tony’s heart ached at the fact that Barnes had been in completely avoidable pain for at least the past month — was just the shit icing on top of the shit cake, but at least Tony knew how to  _ do _ this. 

This was a broken machine, and if Tony was good at one thing, it was fixing broken machines. The fact that it was connected to a person didn’t have to matter, right now. Something was broken and built poorly and Tony could  _ fix it. _ He could see how to fix it, what he would need to replace, how he could whip up a part that would work, and he did just that. 

Grabbed his tools, tweezers and wire-cutters and a can of electronic cleaner, and went to work. 

He narrated everything he was doing — when he was going to cut a wire, when he was going to scrub off some of the corrosion, when he was going to solder a piece back into position — to Barnes, not wanting the man to get twitchy and shoot him, and also, honestly, because it was a habit. Working on DUM-E, U, JARVIS, he always  _ talked _ , even when the bots were shut down for repairs.

Once he was done with the more obvious problem he noticed that the mechanics further into the arm, under unopened plates, needed some cleaning as well, could be better, could work  _ better _ , tapped the plates he needed to access and just… kept going. He soldered, and clipped, and cleaned, and when he finally looked back up out of the haze of  _ must fix, must fix  _ he’d made it all the way to Barnes’s wrist. 

Barnes was  _ looking _ at him when Tony looked up, pushed the set of glasses with magnifying lenses he wore when he needed to deal with delicate circuitry, and something was…. different.

It took Tony a moment to realize what, and when he did, it took effort to stop himself from reaching out. Barnes was  _ relaxed _ , the tension Tony had barely even noticed earlier gone. 

_ Most likely because he was no longer in pain, _ Tony thought, managed to summon up a smile. “You doing ok?” He asked, “If you want, I can keep going — I bet your fingers have the same level of damage, and I'd recommend letting me replace the rubber seal to prevent other water damage like this from occurring. That’s gonna take a little longer, but if you want…” Tony trailed off, “Or not.” He said, fairly awkwardly, because Barnes’s face had closed down again, and after the small peek of openness, it was a loss that Tony felt keenly. 

“The arm will be  _ removed _ .” Barnes said, and his metal fingers flexed on the table with a series of clacks, all the plates he’d opened up closing one by one. “Replacing the seal will be unnecessary once it is removed.” He paused, and Tony didn’t cut into the gap that Barnes had made, figuring that Barnes had more to say, and wasn’t disappointed. “Maintenance was thorough. It was unnecessary. Why?” 

Tony had to drop his gaze. “I fix things.” He said, turned the pair of needle-nose pliers around in his hand, “I try to make things  _ better _ , whenever I can, and…” Tony paused, because he couldn’t be too honest, here, but something in him wanted to tell Barnes the truth. Some misplaced sense of comradery, maybe, seeing similarities where there were… more than Tony really wanted to admit to, really. Eventually, he looked back up, met Barnes’s blue, blue eyes. “It was hurting you, and I hate that. I know you want it gone, and I— I  _ understand _ , but I cannot promise that I can do that for you. I will  _ try, _ and I will do anything I can to help you, but some things—”

“The Asset understands.” Barnes said. Tony nodded, debated internally the best way to  _ do _ this for a moment. He didn’t exactly have an x-ray machine in his house, and no other medical scanners aside from the ones built into the Iron Man suit, which,  _ no _ , so he’d have to do this by feel. Literally. 

“Ok.” Tony said, looked over Barnes, trying to judge — if the thing was connected to his bicep, which honestly, judging by the mechanics  _ in _ the arm, that far up, wasn’t all that likely, he maybe  _ could _ remove it — where the arm would be anchored to, if not Barnes’s humerus, trying to figure out where to start. “I need to touch you, if that’s ok—?”

Barnes nodded again, and Tony gestured for Barnes to half-turn so he wasn’t facing the table, rolled his own chair closer, and reached out with both hands to Barnes’s collarbones, started where the metal of the arm either ended or disappeared underneath Barnes’s skin, tried to mirror his touch as best he could on the other side. He wasn’t exactly an expert in anatomy, and what he  _ had _ learned had been for himself after his musculoskeletal structure and been well and truly fucked up, so playing this like a touch-based spot the difference was about the best idea he had, aside from trying to convince Barnes to take a trip down to a hospital, but the chances of  _ that _ going over well were exactly zilch. 

It wasn’t exactly hard to tell that there was metal underneath Barnes’s skin, his collarbone too thick on his left side under Tony’s fingertips until abruptly, it wasn’t, something that could’ve been a bone aside from the fact that it didn’t match on the other side, straight through to Barnes’s sternum. 

Barnes was still, under Tony’s hands, still enough that Tony might've thought he was a statue aside from the fact that he was warm and his chest was rising and falling with his breaths, slowly enough that it was barely unnoticeable, and even though sometimes, Tony had to push to feel under the muscles, he did his best to be gentle.

He had a feeling Barnes needed some gentleness.

 

* * *

The mechanic’s hands were warm, and the Asset found himself relaxing under his touch. Respiration slowed. Heart rate slowed. Pain dropped to under even the new baseline the mechanic had created by repairing the Asset’s left arm. 

The Asset had no memory of this level of pain. The arm had always hurt more than this, he was sure. He wondered why previous mechanics were unable to make the pain less, the arm more functional. He decided that it must be because they were not as good as this one.

This mechanic was best. This mechanic talked softly and worked quickly, and he had not covered his hands with gloves like the previous mechanics had, like the Asset was not worthy of being touched.

He wanted—

The Asset corrected himself with a shake. The Asset did not  _ want _ . He had not been built for that.

The pain in his head was a reminder of that.

He realized that the mechanic was no longer touching him, was only looking at him, a furrow in his brown indicating concern. 

“Did I hurt you?” He asked, and unlike with the other mechanics, who only wanted to know what caused the Asset pain so they could repeat the process over and over, the Asset  _ wanted _ to answer, “You went… blank, for a second there.”

“Pain was not caused by you.” The Asset assured him, The mechanic’s mouth opened, like he wanted to say something else, closed again. 

“Ok.” He said, “I’m gonna touch you again.”

He didn’t, though, had his hands out like he was going to, but was still just looking at the Asset, nothing else.

Still was not touching him.

The mechanic made a soft noise in his throat, and his eyes darted down and away before returning to meet the Asset’s. “Are you ok with me doing that?”

“Touch is acceptable.” The Asset answered, and realized that it was true. The Mechanic hesitated for a second, eyes flicking back and forth between the Asset’s, and then his hands were back on the Asset’s skin, eyes narrowing slightly in concentration, focused solely on the Asset. 

With previous handlers, when they looked at him, studied him, when he had their focus, it was an unpleasant feeling, like things under his skin that should not see the light were being poked and prodded and looked at. It had always felt like they wanted to break him apart.

This was different. Carbonell’s focus did not feel like the threat of pain, it did not make him feel like he had to hide.

“Can you turn for me?” He asked, voice still soft, and as always, a question, not an order, looked up and met the Asset’s eyes with his own. The Asset tensed, for a moment, at the thought of someone at his back, instincts and training telling him to keep his eyes on the potential threat, to not expose himself more than necessary. “You don’t have to,” The Mechanic hurried to say, “I can probably figure out what I need to figure out by reaching around you, but that means we’d be closer. Up to you.” 

For a moment, the Asset marvelled at being given a choice, one that was not a test meant to hurt him, to trick him. “Stay.” He said, finally, and the Mechanic’s eyes crinkled, a little bit. The Asset did not know what to make of the expression, and did not have time to puzzle it out before the Mechanic pushed his stool closer to the Asset’s, his knee bumping into the Asset’s thigh, braced himself with one hand splayed out in the center of the Asset’s chest so he could lean closer.

“Ok?” He asked, voice softer now, loudness unnecessary in the closeness, and the Asset nodded. His chest was warm under the Mechanic’s hand. 

He was frowning as he started feeling the Asset’s back, and the Asset shivered as his fingers traced up his vertebrae, like he was counting each and every one. More pressure in the soft space in between his spine and his scapula, pressure that was  _ warm _ , a soft touch across his shoulder blade and then the Mechanic was pushing back, frowning slightly. “I—” He started, rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, and the Asset shivered at the new lack of warmth, at the lack of touch. The mechanic sighed, slumped in his stool, looked the Asset in the eye. “I can’t take the arm off. I’m sorry.”

The cold, abruptly, was worse. “Why.”

The Mechanic looked like he’d expected the Asset’s question. “It’s anchored to your sternum, your spine, into your ribs,” He said, “Most likely it’s grafted into your spinal cord somehow, since you said it was hurting you, I— I’m a mechanic, not a doctor, and this isn’t something I can do. I’m sorry.”

The Asset cocked his head. That was not an acceptable answer. “A medic is not necessary. You are a mechanic. You are qualified to progress with removal—”

“I am  _ not, _ ” The mechanic said, stood suddenly, a burst of movement that made the Asset freeze, “The mechanical bits? Sure, I can tinker with prothstetics and the like all day long, but this— this is integrated into your skeletal system, your neurological system, who  _ knows _ what else, and that’s  _ way _ outside my area of expertise. I can cut off the arm if you really,  _ really _ want, but that won’t  _ fix _ anything, not with how much of the structure is in your chest—”

“You are a mechanic.” The Asset insisted, “Parts are non-functioning. Protocol dictates—”

“Protocol dictates that  _ I have no fucking idea how to fix a human being, _ ” The Mechanic snapped, threw his hands up in the air. The Asset stilled. 

That explained the Mechanic’s hesitation, if he thought that the Asset was human. The Asset had forgotten, in the relief of pain and fear of being exposed, of having to run with a malfunctioning arm, that this mechanic had not and had never been Hydra, and had not been briefed on what the Asset was. “The Asset is not human. No more than basic medical knowledge is required. Removal may commence.” 

The expression on Carbonell’s face at that was something that the Asset had seen many times before. Shock, then horror, then defeat. The same set of emotions that the Asset had seen on the faces of his previous victims. He did not know why those emotions were on the Mechanic’s face now, however. There was no victim here. “You… you’re the Asset.” He just said, after a moment of quiet. 

“Yes.” 

The mechanic scrubbed a hand over his face. “I— I don’t know what to tell you. I cannot remove your prothstetic’s infrastructure. I know that’s not what you were hoping for, but I  _ can’t _ . I know— I know you want it gone and I know if I told you the risks involved with me going at it anyways you’d still want me to do it, I  _ get _ that, more than you know, but  _ I can’t do that. _ I won’t do that to you. I—” He broke off, hesitated, looked up at the Asset through his lashes. “I know someone who might be able to help, but— you’re shaking.” He said, an observation, not a question, “Shit, you must be freezing, here—”

He was gone in a flurry of movement, and when he came back, the Mechanic was holding a blanket. It seemed like he had forgotten that the Asset’s shirt and jacket were still laying on top of the workbench, but the Asset didn’t protest as Carbonell shook out the blanket and draped it around his shoulders. 

Without thinking, the Asset reached out and grabbed Carbonell’s wrist before the man could pull away. He was, as Carbonell had pointed out, shivering, even though the temperature within the room was well within operational parameters. Carbonell didn’t pull away, just looked at the Asset again, something unrecognizable in his eyes that shifted, as he looked between the Asset and his hand on his wrist, to understanding. “Stop me if I’m wrong,” He said, and slowly, leaned over and wrapped an arm around the Asset’s metal shoulder and pressed close so that their hands were trapped between their chests. 

It took a moment, but the Asset recognized the action as a hug. He was no longer shivering, and he was still holding Carbonell’s wrist tight, the other’s palm flat against the Asset’s bare chest. 

Carbonell was still standing, and it was an awkward angle, and the Asset did not move aside from to let out a breath, held Carbonell’s wrist just a little tighter. 

Carbonell’s hand was resting in between his shoulder blades, and his thumb was stroking small arcs, and the Asset felt— he felt— he felt— 

He was being held and he hadn’t felt that since— since— 

_ — sharp nails digging into his back as the body curled in front of him shook with tears —  _

_ — a arm over his shoulder steadying him and a flash of blond hair under incandescent streetlights —  _

—  _ lifting a body smaller than his own over his head, brown hair and bright eyes and laughter — _

There was a strangled noise in the air, and the Asset realized, after a moment, that it had been him, and he was shaking again, and the Mechanic was talking to him, brow furrowed again, and —

The horizon flipped and everything went dark.

 

* * *

 

Barnes’s eyes opened with a jolt, and Tony, who had been crouching in front of the couch he’d moved Barnes to when he’d collapsed, was quick to hold his hands up in non-threat. “Easy, easy,” He said, didn’t move to touch the man again, because last time—

Last time he’d started shaking like a leaf in a hurricane and went  _ comatose _ from a  _ hug _ , and Tony did  _ not _ want that happening again. 

“You’re ok,” He said, as Barnes’s eyes darted around, taking in his surroundings, “It’s still just me, alright? You’re ok.” Barnes was looking at him, opened his mouth, licked his lips. Didn’t make any move to get off the couch or even sit up, and Tony sighed, rubbed his eyes.  _ God _ , he was tired. “You gonna tell me what the hell happened there, bud? Because I don’t really appreciate my houseguests fainting on me, and it’d rather it not happen a second time.” 

“Error.” Barnes said, voice rough, which was understandable. He had been screaming a little bit there, screaming with his jaw tight and lips closed and deep in his chest like he was trying to be as quiet as possible. Tony was very,  _ very _ glad that he’d soundproofed the house so that the apartment next door wouldn’t have to deal with the racket he caused by metalworking. “There was nothing before Hydra.” He blinked, shifted, seemed to come out of the semi-robot state he’d just been in. 

_ He remembered _ , Tony thought, and then  _ he remembered something and blacked out almost immediately. _ “Do you…” He asked, hesitated, “Do you know what caused it?” 

“Physical contact triggered invalid memory.” Barnes answered. “The error has been dealt with. There should be no further issues of that kind.”

On the one hand, Tony did not  _ want  _ more problems, but on the other, Barnes remembering was  _ good _ , and Tony was willing to bet that whatever Hydra had stuck in Barnes’s brain to continue to enforce the wipes were not, in the strictest sense of the word,  _ good _ . Or painless. Or something that should  _ ever _ happen again. 

Christ, Tony wished he had a neurologist handy. 

“That’s good,” He said, “Does that mean—”

“Physical contact should no longer trigger an error.” Barnes said, and if Tony had to identify the expression on his face he’d call it pleading. 

It was not an expression that Tony ever would’ve associated with the Winter Soldier before today. It was almost adorable, and if Tony thought about it for too long, kinda heartbreaking. “Alright,” He said, held his hand out, palm-up, towards Barnes, “Can I—” 

That was as far as he got before Barnes’s hand, the human one, was resting in his own, his fingers curled around Tony’s palm, gently tugging him closer. “Touch is acceptable,” He said, his tone ever so slightly smug, ever so slightly a question. Yeah, Barnes was touch-starved, alright, and Tony let himself be pulled up to his knees into an awkward half-hug. 

“Hang on, just—” Tony said, couldn’t miss the disappointment in Barnes’s eyes as he pushed at him so he was half-sitting, and then bullied himself into the now empty space, pulled Barnes back down so the other man was half-lying on Tony. “See, that’s better, and this way my old-man knees aren’t gonna give out on me.” 

Barnes didn’t answer, but he did turn into Tony, let out a soft little sigh that was muffled in Tony’s shirt. 

Tony, abruptly, realized that this was more contact than he’d had with another person in a good long while. 

He was not above admitting that it was pretty damn nice, and by the way Barnes was relaxing under Tony’s hand — stroking up and down his back — Tony was pretty sure he agreed. 

He had to be careful, though — there was a  _ reason _ he’d pulled Barnes down on top of himself despite the fact that being pinned in any way, shape, or form was a definite  _ no _ on his list these days — because he was pretty sure that Barnes’s concept of consent was warped well beyond recognition, and the last thing Tony wanted to do was cross a line he didn’t know was even there. 

So far — aside from the hitch when Tony had been checking the arm and Barnes had just gone blank, and the memory error — things had been going pretty decently, and the fact that Barnes had reached out, both times non-essential contact had started, had refused to let Tony behind him, showed that maybe Barnes wasn’t going to be as bad with boundaries as Tony had been worried about.

Still, though, there was one hell of a lot of pressure on Tony, both to keep Barnes safe, and to keep  _ himself _ safe  _ from _ Barnes, who, even without Hydra was still the goddamn winter soldier, and to find something or someone who might be able to fix him. 

He had some idea of where to start with that, at the very least — Hansen and Cho were at the top of his list so far, Hansen for her experience working with enhancement drugs like the serum, Cho for her cradle and prosthetic work — even if he had no  _ clue _ of where to find someone who would be able to help with Barnes’s brain, he’d talked enough with Bruce about the mesh of neurology and software engineering and where the line was really drawn that Tony was sure he’d throw his hat in the pile, but finding a neurologist who could help and wouldn’t be a problem later down the line wasn’t going to be the issue here. 

No, Tony was pretty sure the biggest hurdle in fixing Barnes was going to Barnes himself, or, more accurately, getting Barnes to agree to have anyone else look him over. 

Another problem — and a more immediate one — was going to be getting Barnes to get  _ off _ of him. It wasn’t that he thought Barnes would refuse — he wouldn’t have  _ done _ this is he hadn’t thought Barnes could respect his boundaries — but Tony didn’t want to move him, was loathe to take away the small comfort he could give, especially so soon after offering. Unfortunately, he needed sleep, and food, and to figure out what the hell to do next, and he had no doubt that Barnes needed to do the same, and lack of sleep and a fairly stressful start to the evening, coupled with another person laying basically on top of him, were slowly but surely pushing Tony’s anxiety through the goddamn roof. 

It was hard enough to sit still  _ without _ feeling like he couldn’t get enough air in his lungs, and after about 15 minutes of staring at the ceiling and lying as still as he could aside from slow strokes across Barnes’s back he actually, physically, could  _ not _ take it anymore, huffed as he stretched back to reach the tablet he knew he’d left lying against the side of the couch. 

Barnes was looking up at him when he finished groping for the damn thing — it had slid  _ under _ the couch, and Tony’s back had cracked alarmingly as he’d arched back over the armrest of the couch to get it — and his eyes were very blue, and worried. “You’re fine,” Tony told him, “You don’t have to move, just thought I'd try and do some work while I'm here.” Barnes still looked suspicious, almost like he wanted to grab the tablet out of Tony’s hands and throw it across the room, ”Look,” Tony said, “I am not going to tell anyone you’re here without your express permission. I am not going to call the Avengers—” Barnes flinched, and Tony made a note of that, “ — or an ambulance, even though  _ god _ knows they’d be more equipped to deal with this than I am, unless you say I can. I  _ do _ , however, need to order some replacement parts for that arm of yours, if you want me to keep fixing it,  _ and _ I’ve got quizzes to mark. So—”

“Keep fixing it?” Barnes interrupted, brow furrowed, “Maintenance has been performed satisfactorily. The Asset is at full functionality. Pain is well below baseline. No further mechanical repairs will be necessary. Programming repair required.” 

“...programming repair.” Tony repeated slowly, sat up and pushed himself a bit further from the other man, because he  _ didn’t _ want to have this conversation acting as a human pillow, “Can you tell me what that means?”

Barnes looked at him like he was an idiot. “You are a software engineer. AI specialist. The Asset is… broken. Software update required—”

_ Oh, _ Tony thought. “I can’t do that,” He said carefully, “You’re right, I’m a software engineer, I do work with AI’s, but… Barnes, you’re  _ not an AI. _ I’m not a neurologist, I can’t— you need a goddamn psychologist, not  _ me. _ ”

“Incorrect,” Barnes said, and he looked like he was in pain, serious, unignorable pain, eyes wide and face ashen and sweat beading at his temples, “No medical professionals will be necessary.. The Asset is not human. The Asset is a machine. The Asset will obey. The Asset will obey. The Asset will—”

“Jesus Christ,” Tony whispered, as Barnes got stuck in some kind of feedback loop, shaking like he was having a seizure, both hands — flesh and not — clenched so hard in the couch cushions that Tony could see the stuffing, saying the same damn thing over and over and  _ over _ in the same flat, empty tone, and Tony didn’t know what the hell to do, and this was  _ so  _ much worse than the error of before, because then it hadn’t looked like Barnes had actually been in pain, whereas now—

Now, his voice had the same forced even cadence as he repeated  _ The Asset will obey _ over and over, but judging by his face, how he was holding himself, he’d rather be screaming. 

There were tears streaming from his eyes. 

“B— Asset,” Tony tried, was pretty sure that using Barnes’s actual name was not going to do good things here, “Asset, I need you to snap out of this, ok?” 

Barnes didn’t so much as look at him, just kept repeating that horrible phrase as he jerked like he was being electrocuted, every muscle in his body tense as stone. Tony waved his hand in front of his face, again, got no response. 

Tony took a breath, sat up straighter. “Asset,” He barked, hated himself a little bit when Barnes flinched, “Status report.”

“Threat to programming detected, deterrent activated. Recommended course of action: wipe and reprogram.” Barnes rattled off, like a goddamn error message spoken through a human mouth, went back to his repetition as soon as the last word had left his mouth. 

_ Fuck, fuck fuck fuck _ , Tony thought,  _ he might not’ve been wrong when he said he needed a software engineer, fuck.  _ “Halt deterrent program.” Tony said, had a decent idea of what deterrent meant in this case — he’d got a good enough look at the arm to know that, yeah, it was genuinely possible that it  _ was _ electrocuting Barnes right now, and even if that wasn’t the case Tony didn’t doubt that whatever programming the man was under could and  _ would _ hurt him — and if Tony hadn’t already hated Hydra before this moment, he sure as fuck would now. “Halt it  _ now. _ ”

“Password required to halt deterrent program.” Barnes said, paused as if he was waiting for something. Presumably, the password.

You know, the one that  _ Tony did not have _ . 

“I don’t—” Tony said, helplessly, “I can’t—” Barnes started speaking again,  _ The Asset will obey the Asset will obey the Asset will obey the Asset will obey—  _ and Tony reached out, cupped Barnes’s cheek and wiped away some of the tears that had been flowing down his face. “I’m sorry,” He said, pushed his palms into his eyes, gave himself a moment. 

A single moment, and then he grabbed his tablet, opened a text editor, the one he used most often for jotting down code when he wasn’t in front of his computer, and started throwing together a battle plan. If Barnes was right about being programmed, not brainwashed in the traditional sense but actually  _ programmed _ like a computer would be, then this might actually be a job for Tony after all. 

After all, every piece of programming had it’s weak points. Every piece of programming could be  _ hacked _ .

And Tony was nothing if not an  _ excellent _ hacker. 

—-

Almost immediately into the first phase of his plan — finding out what kind of syntax and wording he had to use to even get through to Barnes and what kind of commands were available without using a password — Tony had discovered the mute command. He was loathe to use it, but if he was actually going to do this he needed to be able to concentrate and Barnes’s mantra of  _ The Asset will obey _ was making it very hard to do that. So, mute command it was, tied with instructions to tell Tony if  _ anything _ changed, and to answer any direct questions. That, at least, the programming let him do without the password Tony still hadn’t managed to get past. 

He was working on it, though, but it was slow, tedious going. Especially since he didn’t even know if the password was alphanumerical or consisted of specific words in a specific order. 

Especially since Tony was essentially only documenting the code, trying to figure out how to get past without actually damaging or changing anything, because this was a person’s brain and said person was still conscious and awake and there was no safe mode in Bucky Barnes’s brain, no way for Tony to actually test his code before it was live and potentially hurting Barnes even more.

It was…. Easier, to think like he was working on an AI. Easier to pretend he was looking over one of his student’s projects or one of his own AI’s than to acknowledge the reality that… that’s exactly what he was doing, in a way. After all, the bots, and JARVIS, were people, as much as Barnes was a person, which was completely and absolutely and nothing Hydra did could change that, even if Barnes himself thought to the contrary. 

Even if Tony was trying to hack into his brain via a command prompt that had to be  _ somewhere  _ in there, so he could bypass a password Hydra had put there, so he could stop the horrible fucking deterrent program. 

...Well, he never said any of this was  _ normal _ . 

Finally, after he’d gotten a decent enough handle on the syntax that he thought he might be able to do this without royally fucking everything up, Tony spoke. “Open command prompt, boot in safe mode,” He said, then rattled off a string of Russian and numbers that didn’t quite fit together, and, “Reboot system, run in safe mode. Halt deterrent program upon successful reboot.” 

“Reboot initiated.” Barnes said, “Shut down commencing in five, four, three, two, one—”  Tony held his breath, and Barnes, abruptly, toppled over sideways. 

Tony caught him —  _ barely _ — and laid him down on the couch, cursing himself for not seeing that coming. For the first time in over an hour, Barnes was still. Still, Tony fretted as Barnes continued to lay still and quiet on the couch. 

It took almost 5 minutes, but eventually, Barnes’s eyes opened, and before Tony could say  _ anything _ he was laying flat on the ground, Barnes crouched over him, his metal hand around Tony’s throat, eyes icy, but  _ present _ . He wasn’t squeezing, not yet. 

“It’s— It’s me,” Tony tried, sucked in a quick breath before Barnes  _ did _ start squeezing in earnest, “Mecha— _ mechanic.  _ I—”

His vision was going spotty around the edges, and he tried to kick at Barnes — to no effect at all — but his hands were still free, and Tony had just fucking  _ rebooted _ him, and he gestured frantically to hold fire. He hoped that JARVIS could see him, and he hoped that JARVIS wouldn’t do anything drastic, and with the hand  _ not _ tapping out morse on the floor, he reached up, and cupped Barnes’s face. God, he really hoped that Barnes didn’t kill him, but his vision was going dark and he was  _ trying _ to struggle but the lack of air was making him weak and—

Tony dragged in air when abruptly, Barnes let him go, and was halfway across the room in less than a blink as Tony coughed and felt his throat, winced when he could tell that it was going to bruise. 

He hoped he had a scarf lying around somewhere. 

“Hey,” He said, finally, and his voice was rough, scooted towards Barnes. “You ok?”

“I.” Barnes said, and he was shaking and his eyes were wide, and he bodily flinched when Tony scooted an inch or so closer. Tony, instantly, held up his hands. 

“I won’t come any closer,” He said, “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise, I won’t—”

“I hurt you.” Barnes said, and his voice was agonized, and he opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before ducking his head. “Punishment will be accepted.” He said, voice dull. 

“I am not going to punish you.” Tony said, kept his voice calm through sheer force of will alone. “You have been in pain for the better part of an hour, at the end of which you abruptly went more or less comatose. You woke up, and you were confused, and you had no way of knowing that I wasn’t the one who had done that to you.” Tony continued, “That’s  _ perfectly  _ reasonable. You’re not getting punished. Not by me. Not by anyone, ever again, if I have anything to say about it. Ok?”

Barnes didn’t look like he believed him, not entirely, but he visibly relaxed. Tony wondered what he was so afraid of; the thought of hurting someone, or the thought of being punished.  

Tony thought that “both” was the most likely answer to that question. “Can I come closer?” He asked, waited for Barnes’s hesitant nod before he scooted closer, an undignified method of locomotion, but hey, if he was already on the floor, he wasn’t going to spend energy getting up. Eventually, Tony was close enough that he could reach out and touch Barnes if he wanted to. “You feeling ok?”

“Pain levels are well below acceptable limits.” Barnes answered, hesitated for a second, “Deterrent program was activated. The Asset was not wiped. Protocol dictates that Asset must be wiped after triggering of deterrent program. Deterrent program cannot be shut down without the words. Explain.” 

“Wiping you was never an option.” Tony said, “And, you came to me for a reason, because I’m a programmer, and because I’m very good at what I do. I just—” Tony shrugged, “Did what I do best.” 

Barnes cocked his head, considering Tony’s words. “Thank you.” He said, finally, his eyes very bright, staring straight at Tony. Tony looked away.

“Didn’t do it for thanks,” Tony said, and Barnes tensed again, “Not— I did it because you were hurting, and because I'm not good at  _ not _ helping people.” Tony hurried to correct, “I don’t  _ want _ anything from you aside from you getting better.” 

“I am,” Barnes said, “Becoming better. Because of you. Pain is less, and I— I can  _ think _ .”

Tony realized, with a rush of warmth, that That had been the first time Barnes had referred to himself as  _ I _ and not  _ the Asset.  _ That had to be a good sign, right? 

“Good, that’s— that’s great.” Tony said, and his voice broke on a yawn at the end of the sentence. 

He glanced at the clock, and found, to his dismay, that it was close to four in the morning.

“Shit,” He muttered, looked back at Barnes. “Ok, I have to teach tomorrow, and I  _ really _ need to get some sleep, so I’m going to go upstairs and, you know, do that, the couch folds out, there’s blankets and pillows in the cubby underneath, the washroom’s over there, and please help yourself to anything in the fridge. Any questions?” 

Barnes furrowed his brow. “The purpose of this information is…?” He asked, trailed off at the end.

“For you,” Tony said, tried not to be too exasperated, “You can sleep on the couch if you want, you can use the toilet and shower and sink and any of the products in it, you can eat from the fridge. Ok?”

Barnes looked baffled. “Ok,” He repeated.

“Ok.” Tony said, yawned again. “Don’t— accost me in my sleep, or anything, try to keep the noise down, ect, ect, I’ll see you in the morning.”

With that, and leaving Barnes with an increasingly hard-to-decipher look on his face, Tony climbed the stairs into the loft, face-planted into bed, and was out like a light before he was even fully under the covers.

 

* * *

 

Tony poked at the bruising in the mirror, winced at how vivid it was. His voice probably sounded like shit, too.

Definitely a day to wear a scarf, bring a go-cup, and pretend he had a cold. 

Damn, but he was tired. 

Tony showered, threw on some clothes — jeans and layered t-shirts and the undershirt he wore to make sure the light from the reactor wasn’t visible — and tromped down the stairs. 

His houseguest was already awake — if he’d even slept at all — and sitting on the couch, staring at Tony. 

Tony marched right past him, fighting back a yawn, and made a beeline to the espresso machine. It was complicated, and more than a little over-engineered (he’d had to shower at the university’s facilities for three days after he busted his piping trying to hook the thing up to the water main) but it made the best damn espresso he’d ever tasted, he never had to refill the water tank,  _ and _ it turned itself on automatically in the mornings. 

The deep growling noise it made when it started heating up more often than not acted as Tony’s morning alarm, loud enough that he could hear it in his room upstairs. 

He sighed, took a sip, turned around and opened his eyes and nearly jumped out of his skin when he came face to face with Barnes, who had somehow got himself right behind Tony without him even noticing. “I’m putting a bell on you,” Tony threatened, pointed at Barnes, lifted his cup. “Want some?”

Barnes flicked his eyes to the coffee, back to Tony’s face and he took a step back. “I am sorry.” He said, “Your neck…”

Tony shrugged, took another sip of his coffee. “It’s fine,” He said, and his voice came out rougher than normal, “I’ve done worse to myself in the workshop. So. Coffee? Want some?”

“I.” Barnes said, and his face fell, just a little bit, “I don’t know.” 

Tony considered that. “Have you ever had coffee?” He asked, and Barnes shook his head. Well, then. “Wanna try some?” Tony said, and held up the still mostly-full cup of espresso. Barnes looked at him, reached out, and tugged the cup towards him, eyes on Tony the whole time, even when he had to duck his head to take a sip. His tongue, Tony noticed, was very pink when it stuck out to taste. 

Almost immediately, Barnes’s face scrunched up in obvious disgust, and he shoved the tiny cup back at Tony. “No.” He said, “I do not want coffee.” 

Tony managed not to spill any of the espresso on himself when he nearly doubled over laughing. The last person he’d seen object  _ that _ strongly to the bitterness of espresso was  _ Peter _ . “I got that, yeah,” Tony said, decided the rest of it was cool enough and downed it in one swallow, sighed in delight afterwards. Barnes was looking at him like he was insane. “Too bitter, or—”

“Yes.” Barnes said.

“Ok.” Tony said, “So, I have tea and hot chocolate powder somewhere around here, do you have a preference?” 

Barnes’s face went blank. “The Asset does not have preferences” He said, shook himself and blinked. It was profoundly disconcerting to watch. 

“Hot chocolate it is, then,” Tony said, got his second espresso brewing as he dumped some of the chocolate powder into a mug full of milk, steamed the slightly lumpy mixture until it was warm in his hands and the chocolate was all mixed in, took a sip of his own to make sure it was hot enough, and passed it to Barnes. Barnes took it, cradled in both hands, and took a tentative sip. His eyes widened, and he took another, and another, his eyes sliding shut so he could concentrate on the taste. It was a good look on him, and Tony smiled to himself, pleased. “Good?” He asked, and Barnes nodded, held the mug a little closer to his body. “I’m glad,” Tony said, turned back to the fridge, looking over the contents and wondering what he could whip up that would be both quick and scalable.

In the end, he decided on eggs, grabbed the carton and started cracking them into a metal mixing bowl while Barnes sipped his cocoa and watched. 

“So.” Tony said, stirring some milk into the eggs, “We need to talk. About options, for you and your arm, about the things I can take care of here, the things i could try if there’s no other options, and the things I absolutely will and can not do. Are you up for that right now?” 

Barnes straightened in his seat, but nodded. Tony flashed him a reassuring smile, passed him a piece of cheddar to try before he put the rest in with the eggs. Barnes took a tiny bite from the corner of the already small piece, nodded at Tony again, and then took another, larger bite. Tony took that as cue to dump the rest of the cheese into the eggs, poured the whole thing into a pan and started cooking. “Ok, so,” Tony said, “The arm can’t be completely removed without fairly extensive surgery. I know some people who might be able to help with that, but that means you have to let me contact them. You don’t have to give me an answer right now,” Tony said, seeing that Barnes looked tense, mouth opening around a refusal, “It’ll take some time before that’s even possible, and in the meanwhile there’s more work I can do on your arm, and the parts for that will take like three days to come in. So, that’s your window, for an answer. Ok?”

“I understand.” Barnes said, and Tony passed him another piece of cheese. 

“So, that’s that for the arm. For your mind—” Tony paused, as Barnes very, very carefully put down his mug, gripped the edge of the counter. “That’s more complicated. I’m sorry.” 

Tony dropped his gaze and stirred the eggs, an excuse to not have to look at Barnes. “So you cannot fix me.” He said, voice quiet and broken-sounding, “And if you cannot, then there will not be any that can.” 

“I’m not—” Tony tried, “Sure, yes, I could go into your head and delete everything Hydra put in there, but we have  _ no idea _ what that could mean for you, for your brain, there’s just— too many variables, and even if I  _ don’t _ mess something up I’m still going to be cutting pieces out of you and that’s— I can’t do that, I’m sorry, but I  _ can’t. _ ” Tony said, and his voice was shaking, just a little bit. He couldn’t be to Barnes who Yinsen was to him. He couldn’t do  _ that _ to another person, even if they were begging him. 

“I do not understand.” Barnes said, and Tony had to squeeze his eyes shut, “You are refusing because you think you will hurt me?” 

“Yes.” Tony said, “Because I am not a doctor, I am not a neurologist, and I am not comfortable at doing what amounts to non-invasive brain surgery, but—”

“But you are an AI specialist.” Barnes said, and then, “Is that not what I am?”

“Jesus Christ  _ no _ ,” Tony said, spun around to look at Barnes with horror, “Is that. Is that what you think? That you’re an AI?” 

Barnes looked back at him, blinked. “I am not human.” Barnes said, looked down at his hands, spread flat against the counter, flesh and metal, skin and bone, “I am not a person, Hydra created me. If Hydra made me, then there is nothing else I can be. I am not. I pretend, but I am not human, because If I was human, then— then—”

_ Then you wouldn't have been treated the way you were _ , Tony finished in his head when Barnes cut himself off,  _ Oh, you poor man.  _

Barnes shook himself, grabbed his mug off the table and took a deep gulp of his cocoa. Tony wondered if he knew his hand was shaking. Tony wondered how he’d dismiss that. “You’re still a person.” Tony just said, “Even if you’re not human. My bots, they’re people, and no one would ever mistake them for humans. They’re not mutually exclusive terms, you know?” Tony said, popped two pieces of bread into the toaster as he stirred the eggs some more, “But— with my AI’s, with JARVIS — you met him earlier, he’s my security system, if I have to work on them, there’s protections in place so I can do that without hurting them. There’s a safety net, so that if I fuck up they don’t get hurt. You don’t have anything like that, and the chance that I will fuck something up is more than I’m willing to risk. Is that a reason you can accept?” 

Barnes looked down, and then nodded. “I am flawed.” He said, “I knew that, I thought—”

“Hydra did a number on you,” Tony agreed, grabbed the toast out of the toaster and started spooning the eggs onto plates, slid the larger portion over to Barnes and sit opposite him at the counter. “But, ok, everything i’ve said, about fixing you, it… might still be possible,” Tony said, gesturing with his fork, “I can’t do it, not alone, but I know some people who have had experience with things… not like this, but close enough that they should be able to help. Good people, I trust them, some of the same people I’d want to pull in for the arm thing.” Tony took a bite, swallowed, couldn’t help the pleased feeling at seeing Barnes’s eyes widen as he dug into his own eggs, obviously happy with the taste when he went back in for more, and more. For a world-famous assassin, he had a very expressive face, when you knew where to look. 

Tony wondered if that’s why they made him wear that mask, all the time. Barnes said something, muffled around the mouthful of eggs, and he swallowed, tried again. “Who?” 

“Some people i’ve worked with before,” Tony said easily, “Cho, for your arm, she specializes in regenerating tissue, really kicking up a fuss in the medical field right now, and Hansen, now, she’s technically a botanist, but she  _ does _ do work with genetic engineering and last I heard she was dabbling in neurology, and I’m pretty sure Strange owes me at least one favor,” Tony said, glanced at the clock and took a hurried bite of his eggs. “So. Those are your options. If you don’t want anyone else but me knowing what’s up, that’s fine, but the most I can work on is the mechanical portions of the arm, and for that i’ve gotta order parts and stuff. Anything more and—”

“And other people have to know.” Barnes finished for him, “I understand. I will… think about it. Can—” Barnes paused, seemed to steel himself, for what, Tony didn’t know.  “Further work on the arm would be acceptable,” Barnes said, and then, “What do you need for it?” 

Tony misunderstood, at first. “Uh, a couple of generic parts, servos, circuitry, new valves for the pneumatics, stuff like that, silicone or rubber to replace the sealant, and a couple custom parts I’m gonna have to make myself, like the joints in your fingers? They’re busted up, and that’s not gonna be something I can just buy off Amazon or anything, which is why it’s gonna take a couple of days.”

“No.” Barnes said, and Tony looked up from where he was counting things off on his fingers, making a list in his head, to see that Barnes was shaking. Not that much, and Tony didn’t even think that he’d noticed, but his eyes were wide and he was clearly afraid. “Payment for services rendered. What is your price.” 

Tony blinked, caught off guard, put his fork down. “I’m not doing this for money,” He said, and that had clearly been the wrong choice of words because Barnes went rigid in his chair, face going pale. “No, hey, I don’t know what that meant to you but I  _ guarantee _ that’s not what I meant, ok? I don’t— I don’t know what I did wrong. Can you tell me?” 

“If monetary compensation is not acceptable, trade will be.” Barnes said, like it was something he’d memorized, like he didn't want to think about the words at all, “Work for work. It is not uncommon. Hydra would make trades. Compensation for work is required. Please don’t make me hurt anyone, I do not want to hurt anyone, please—”

“Woah, no, that is  _ never _ going to happen,” Tony said, “I’m not going to make you— no. Never. No.” He said, cut himself off, shaking his head. Barnes visibly relaxed at that, but he was still watching Tony warily. Tony was quiet, for a moment longer, digesting the implications of what Barnes had just said. Of course, Barnes had worked with other organizations. There was too much variety in his victims — mostly good people in positions of power that Hydra didn’t want in power anymore, but other, smaller-scale assassinations, or ones that didn’t have any connection to Hydra at all, also showed up in the records — for anything else to be going on, but Tony hadn’t ever expected that Hydra had actively used Barnes as  _ payment _ . “That’s not what I meant, at all.” He finally said, when he felt like he could open his mouth without throwing up,  “I don’t want  _ anything _ from you. I’m not doing this expecting payment, of any form, I’m doing this because you are hurting and I want to help. That’s all, honest.” 

“I don’t understand,” Barnes said, and he sounded pleading, “You have repaired me. You have fed me. You have provided physical contact. There must be compensation.” 

Tony took a slow breath in, held it, let it out in a woosh to try to keep himself calm.  _ Repair. Food. Touch.  _ Those were the things that Barnes thought he had to be  _ compensated _ for giving him, things that  _ everyone _ should get, no matter what. “My compensation is seeing you healthy.” Tony said, looked at Barnes and tried to put as much honesty into his voice and eyes as he could, “That’s all I want. I just— I fix things. I’m fixing you. I don’t need anything in return but knowing that I’ve done something. It’s just who I am.” Tony said, held a hand out, palm-up, to Barnes. “Promise.” 

Barnes still looked wary, but he reached out, rested his hand in Tony’s, the same intent as a handshake, but miles more intimate. Tony let his fingers curl around Barnes’s hand, let his eyes slide shut for a moment. “I have to leave,” He said, finally, didn’t open his eyes. “I have class, but I’ll be back at around five, and you’ve got the day to think about things. I’ll— here,” Tony said, grabbed a pen and gently tugged Barnes’s hand closer to him, scrawled his number on the back, just in case. “If you need  _ anything _ , call me, ok?”

Barnes was looking at where their hands were still linked, but nodded. 

Tony smiled at him, stood, grabbed his bag and his keys, only glanced at Barnes once more before he left.

 

* * *

 

Tony was only about halfway through the day when he collapsed face-first onto his desk, exhausted. 

At least it was a blank period for him, and his next class wasn’t due in the room for another hour, so that no one was here to see him groaning into the wood. After allowing himself a moment, he sighed and started ordering the things he needed for Barnes. 

His phone chirped. 

Tony ignored it, because if it was Barnes or an Avengers alert, it would be a different noise, and currently, he was tired and focused enough that he was only counting those two things as important enough to care about. 

The next time his phone chirped, it  _ was _ the alert noise he’d set up for Barnes, and he was scrabbling at his phone to unlock it as quickly as he could. 

_ The Sargent seems to be in the midst of a panic attack, or something close. _

“Fuck,” Tony said, upon reading JARVIS’s messages, shoved his laptop in his bag and grabbed his coat off his chair, “Fuck fuck  _ fuck _ .”

Another notification popped up on his screen, and Tony kinda wanted to  _ scream _ at seeing the five minute alert he’d set up for the tutoring session he had, because he couldn’t just  _ leave _ Barnes but he  _ had _ promised Harley he’d help him study for his physics test, and even as he was rushing towards the door he was typing one-handed so that at the very least Harley wouldn’t be stuck waiting on him. 

 

To: Keener Kid

 

So im gonna have to cancel on you

I know you have a test tomorrow and Im so sorry but something’s come up and i have to run home

 

**dude. ur killing me.**

 

I wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t really, really important

 

**what is it**

**you legally have to tell me if it’s a date btw**

**and who it is**

 

its not a date

i wouldn’t cancel on u bc of a date i’m not that much of an asshole

 

**agree to disagree**

**and im noticing how you still have not said what it is**

**you’re being cagey, i can tell these things**

 

don’t say it

 

**because we’re CONNECTED**

 

Wow

U know i said i was sorry about this but you know what

Im not sorry anymore

 

**heckn rude**

**but srsly are u ok? I don’t think you’ve cancelled like, ever, aside from that one time you just didnt show up because it turned out you had been**

 

yeah i remember

Im fine kid

I just have to deal with a time-sensitive issue that i can’t talk about to anyone that requires me to be at home whenever possible for the next couple days

totally fine

 

**OH Is this about ur other job**

 

actually no

It would be easier if it was

For what its worth, good luck

 

**K**

**Dont die**

 

That was never on the table and frankly i am concerned you would suggest that it might’ve been

 

Someone knocked on the door to the classroom just as Tony reached it, and he barely held back a groan. If he was lucky it’d be a janitor and he could let them do their job and then be on his way, but most likely it was gonna be a student asking for help or an extension or something because at this point into the semester, everyone he was teaching knew he had a spare hour here and was basically physically incapable of saying no to them. 

He’d have to now though. 

So, he opened the door, and was nearly bowled off his feet by Peter Parker, who was red-faced and breathing heavily and holding a stack of papers in his hands. “Doctor Carbonell!” He said, like he was surprised to see Tony, “Oh, man, it’s great to see you because I wanted to hand these in before next class and you’re here, so—” He was saying, and Tony couldn’t help but smile at the kid as he started talking about the trip he was taking over the weekend and part of next week, and all of a sudden, he had an idea. 

“Hey,” Tony said, “You’re pretty good at physics, right?” 

Peter cocked his head. “...yes? I guess, I’m not the best at it or anything, biochem and engineering is more my speed but—”

“Great,” Tony cut him off, “So, there’s a kid I usually tutor around this time, but today i’ve had to cancel and he’s got a test tomorrow, and I was wondering if you could maybe take over for me this one time? I usually don’t make him pay me but—” Tony said, half-spun to dig his wallet out of his pants pocket, pulled out a 50, “I’ll of course compensate you for your time, if that’s something—”

“I would but… you really think I could do that?” Peter asked, “I know I’m not exactly anyone’s idea of a  _ tutor _ , and I don’t wanna let you or him down—”

“You won’t,” Tony said, completely honestly and absolutely relieved, held out the money a little more insistently when Peter didn’t immediately take it — this kid, Christ, the most selfless person Tony had ever  _ met _ — “Promise. You’ll do great, he’ll do great, I won’t be eaten alive at guilt for letting him fail his test for the rest of my life, win-win-win. We usually meet in the Starbucks in the eng building, if that’s—”

“I’ll do it.” Peter said, face set in determination, and was off like a shot in the direction Tony’d pointed him, a, “I WON’T DISAPPOINT YOU,” hollered behind him as he ran.

Tony tucked Peter’s work into his bag, started tapping at his phone agian.

 

 

To: Keener Kid

 

...what if i got one of my students to take over?

 

**no thanks i’d rather bomb it**

 

im serious

 

**so am i! All your students treat me like a dumb kid, and i hate it**

**I know they’re not entirely wrong but**

 

my kids did what

Tell me which ones

nevermind im on a time limit anyways i promise this one won’t

He’s your age, actually

 

**great so a snobby genius wonderkid who doesn’t just look down on me bc im younger than them**

 

Peter’s not like that

At all

You’ll like him trust me, and he’s a great teacher. I’ve seen him at study groups

harley, i promise he can help you, and he won’t be a dick about it

 

**You’re a dick about it**

**Ok fine send him over**

 

That’s what i was hoping you’d say considering he’s probably already busting a lung sprinting there. Also i already paid him so

 

**You’re such an ass**

**thanks.**

 

No problem, kid. 

  
  


 

Tony was already at his car by the time he’d finished the conversation, so he wasted no time starting the car and speeding off home.

He just hoped he wasn’t already too late. 

—-

Tony broke at least three speed laws and ran a red light on his way home. JARVIS had been updating him on Barnes’s status the whole time, had attempted to patch Tony into the house speakers to see if his voice would make any difference, to no avail. Barnes was unresponsive, shaking and twisting on the floor beside the couch and clawing at himself like he was trying to rip off his own skin, choking in shallow, ragged breaths. 

Tony knew the feeling, like your skin was too tight, like if you could get  _ out _ you’d feel better. 

He just hoped that he’d get back in time to stop Barnes from harming himself more seriously than scratching himself.

The car was still rolling when Tony launched himself out and into his house and then Barnes was  _ there _ , making horrible whining noises under his breath, rocking back and forth like it hurt more if he didn’t move. His shirt and pants were laying on the ground, visibly torn, ripped off like Barnes couldn’t stand the feel of them on his skin any longer. Some of the scratches on Barnes’s arm and chest were bleeding sluggishly, far too red against frighteningly pale skin. 

Barnes didn’t seem to notice that Tony was even there. “Hey, hey, shhhh,” He said, tried to make his voice as soothing as possible when he himself was in the midst of freaking out, reached out to put a palm on Barnes’s forearm. 

Instantly, he was still, so still that for a second Tony nearly thought he’d died, and when he slid his hand down to grab Barnes’s wrist to, you know,  _ check that _ , Barnes shuddered.

Tony nearly yanked his hands away, because clearly,  _ clearly _ he’d messed up and hurt Barnes even more, but before he could Barnes— curled up on himself, trapping Tony’s hand in the arc he’d made with his body. 

Trying, Tony realized, to get closer. 

The contact really, really seemed to help, even though Barnes was still twitching like he was being kicked by invisible assailants and was worryingly pale, he was visibly better than when Tony had entered the room.  _ Touch-starvation _ , Tony thought,  _ God, of course,  _ and he rested his other hand on Barnes’s bare shoulder. Barnes shivered again, and went stiller, so Tony started stroking up his side, slow and smooth and with enough pressure that it wouldn’t be ticklish, let Barnes clutch at his other hand. “You’re ok,” He said, “I know you probably feel like you’re dying, right now, and I know it sucks, but It’s gonna pass. I promise. For now, just try to breathe for me.” 

It was a line, and Tony felt kinda absurd spouting them off, but they’d worked well enough on him that he didn’t see any harm in it, wouldn’t deny Barnes anything that could help him through this. 

Barnes made a small, pained noise under his breath, between clenched teeth, and Tony was quick to talk to him again, to keep his voice soft and his hands gentle. Barnes, still, didn’t really make any indication that he’d heard what Tony had said, but slowly, he had twisted himself closer to Tony, was laying more or less in Tony’s lap with his arms wrapped around Tony’s waist and his face pressed into Tony’s hip as Tony stroked his hair and tried not to cry out when Barnes’s fingers dug in a little too hard. 

Barnes was breathing better, was quieter, and that was worth it, so Tony kept his mouth shut aside from trying to talk Barnes down, and didn’t flinch from the pain of blood rushing into where Barnes had been gripping him when he let go and rolled over, onto his back, looking up at Tony. His eyes were tight around the edges, and he was still breathing raggedly, and Tony rubbed a little harder at his scalp, at a loss of what else to do. He didn’t know for sure, of course, if Barnes even  _ had _ a headache or if that wasn’t a symptom he got, but he knew that the migraines that came after an attack could easily take him out of commission, and that when someone did this for him it always felt wonderful. 

Barnes seemed to agree if the way his eyes fluttered shut was any indication, and the next noise that came out of his mouth was wet-sounding and relieved. 

Tony didn’t realize he was mumbling something until his eyes snapped open, and he grabbed at Tony’s shoulder with a kind of horrified desperation. 

"Barnes?" He asked, leaned over to try to catch what Barnes was saying, "Are you—"

"It hurts," He said, voice shaking, "It hurts,  _ it hurts— _ "

"You're having a panic attack," Tony said, voice as gentle as he could make it, "I know it feels like you can't breathe, like you're dying, but it'll be over soon. I promise you, this will not last forever. It'll pass, just— breathe with me, ok?"

Barnes tried to suck in a breath, shook his head furiously when it got caught halfway in his throat, reached up to fist his flesh hand in the fabric of Tony's coat, which he was still wearing. "I remember," He croaked, eyes wild in his too-pale face, "I— I— I remember—"

"Oh," Tony just said, and holy hell he was not prepared for this even remotely, "That's— what do you remember?" 

Barnes didn't speak for a moment more, his breaths close to sobs. "I—" He said, closed his eyes and turned his face away like he was ashamed, "I remember that I deserve this."

Tony didn't know what to say to that. He was completely off any given script, here,  and in hindsight, he had been for a while. He'd comforted people before, of course, had told people forced at gunpoint to do horrible things that they were forgiven, had told controller's victims that it wasn't their fault, that no one blamed them. He was, he thought, pretty good at it. Good at recognizing when someone could believe him when he said that it wasn't their fault, at recognizing when they just needed someone to understand how soul-crushingly guilty they felt. Of course, he'd never done anything of the sort as anyone other than Iron Man, and for a second, he wasn't sure he knew how to without the mask. Without his armour, hiding his own feelings away. "You don't." Tony said, after a moment, started stroking Barnes's hair again, "You do not deserve what you're feeling right now. I promise you, you don't." 

"I do," Barnes protested, "The things i've done—"

"Were not your fault," Tony cut him off, "You were brainwashed, you were controlled, Hydra is the one at fault here. Not you." Tony said, took a breath, "I know how you feel, right now. You're blaming yourself for something that you did, whether you wanted to or not. You killed people and you hate yourself for that. I—" 

"You do  _ not _ know how I feel," Barnes snapped, pushed himself away from Tony with such force that Tony was nearly knocked over, the breath leaving his lungs with a woosh, "You are good. You are a  _ teacher _ . You do not know what it is like to have blood on your hands. Not like I do, not ever, so do not say—"

"I didn't use to be," Tony said, voice quiet. "Teaching is... recent, for me. Before this, before— I made weapons." He said, saw the shock on Barnes's face before he looked away, "I made weapons, and I thought I was doing the right thing, and I'd bet you everything I have that my body count is orders of magnitude higher than yours, and the thing was, I wasn't forced into it. I thought I was doing the right thing and I only learned I wasn't when it hurt me back. I'm not saying I've gone through the same things as you. I've never been brainwashed or mind-controlled or anything near to it, but I've hurt people, Barnes. The things i've made have killed innocent people. So, I get it. I get how you feel, and I am telling you that it was  _ not your fault." _

"It was my hands." James said, his voice very, very cold, "It was my gun, it was my knife, it was me. I have seen people die. Do not try to compare us because you cannot understand—"

Tony held his hands up in the face of James's anger, and then— "I let my mentor fall to his death," Tony said before he could stop himself, took a step towards James, dropped his hands to his sides, "Because he tried to kill me, because he was going to kill my friends. We are not the same, and I am not saying that we are. I'm saying that you should trust me when I say that I know what it feels like to have to hurt people. I know what it feels like to have blood on your hands. I'm just trying to help you." Tony said, held out a hand, palm up, shaking slightly. "Just... let me help you." 

James looked at Tony, and he was still shaking, his breathing was still rattling and uneven, suspicious and desperate and hopeful by turns. 

And then he put his hand in Tony, and Tony let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, waiting for James to make his decision. "It's good that you remember." Tony said, saw James flinch, at that, "I know it hurts. I know you wish you didn't, and I get that, I  _ get _ wanting to forget. I get that right now, the only thing these memories are doing is hurting you." Tony said, and James closed his eyes and struggled to take a deep breath. "But they are still part of you. No matter how much it hurts, they are, and— when you came here, you thought you were a machine. You don't anymore, do you." Tony said, and it wasn't a question. James nodded, anyways, had started holding onto Tony's shoulder with his metal hand at some point while Tony had been talking, was gripping like Tony was his lifeline. "I think that's because you remember now. Not because you remember that you're a person, but because— your memories, the feelings attached to them, that's what makes you _you_."

"So before." James said, "I wasn't a person, if I didn't remember."

"I think," Tony paused, "That personhood can't be taken away. You've always been a person, even if you weren't entirely yourself. Hydra tried to change that, and they didn't, and now— now you get to decide what you're gonna do about that." 

James was silent for a long moment. "I think," James said, and his eyes were very, very blue when he looked up at Tony, "That I want to try to fix myself. I don't, can't, trust myself anywhere if Hydra's still in my head. I know that's going to take time, and help, and--" James paused, and then he smiled, just a tiny little thing, barely a quirk of his lips, and it was still one of the best things Tony had ever seen, "I think I want to stay. If you'll have me." 

And, well, Tony really couldn't resist pulling James into a hug at that. The other man was still pale, still clearly coming down from his panic attack, and Tony was not making the mistake of thinking that James was anywhere near ok, but. 

He was on his way. 

"Of course I'll have you." Tony said, and as James sunk into the hug, he thought that yeah, they could do this. 

Yes, there were still things they were going to have to deal with. The whole matter of the Avengers, for instance, both the fact that they'd been looking for James since DC and the fact that Tony was Iron Man, the fact that Tony had more secrets than scars and he'd just opened himself up to having someone who'd been trained to sniff out secrets live with him, the fact that both of them were nothing that amounted to ok. 

Tony was pretty sure they'd make it work, anyways. 

**Author's Note:**

> title (very loosely) taken from episode 41 of wolf 359


End file.
